His Mistress's Leash
by LadyTP
Summary: Joffrey plays a cruel prank on Sandor but Sansa comes to rescue. What will she receive in return? A Livejournal fic prompt challenge; "Westerosi bachelor auction. Sandor has to participate. Sansa has to bid."
1. The Bid

_**Author's Notes:** _ This is an expanded fic of the originally Livejournal sansaxsandor Sansan Russian Roulette challenge, written for the prompt of amazing starbird1: "Westerosi bachelor auction. Sandor has to participate. Sansa has to bid. (Up to you if it's on him or not.) Would prefer more depth than just a description of Sandor walking out on stage and Sansa nervously placing a bid. Prefer canon-era and not modern AU."

The actual challenge is limited to about 500 words and the original fill of 536 words can be found in . . This is an extended version - let's call it a 'directors's cut' (or director's extension?). Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Once – seemingly long, long time ago - Sansa Stark would have enjoyed nothing more than admiring a procession of the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms parading in front of her eyes in their shining armours, steel and precious stones of their expensive trappings sparkling in bright daylight.**

Yet now – only a short time later – she wished nothing more than for the foolish auction to just _finish_. Her feet felt like lead after standing still for what seemed like hours, and she suppressed an impulse to shift her weight back and forth to gain some respite. _Ladies don't fidget,_ Septa Mordane's voice echoed inside her head.

"It is going to be so much fun!" Margaery Tyrell had gushed to her ladies and anyone within earshot, eager to make her mark in the court where she had been so suddenly elevated into a position of the highest status. Apparently not wanting to deny his new bride anything - especially when the said bride had arrived at the head of a victorious army and a large convoy of much needed supplies - King Joffrey had agreed to her whim.

One after another the knights who had volunteered to this outlandish and not just a little bit scandalous scheme had walked up to the dais and strutted back and forth while the auctioneer had sung their praises. Esteemed lineage of the noblest houses of the realm, battle prowess, accolades achieved in tourneys and prestigious positions in the court were touted about each of the candidates. What was left unsaid but still as loud as if shouted from the top of the room was how well-groomed and handsome these men were, all in the prime of their life.

Not that the latter should have mattered the least. However, Sansa had heard whispers that in frivolous Highgarden and in Dorne, where the practice of Auction-a-Knight had first risen, these attributes were considered of highest importance. The occasions when the most handsome knights were on offer apparently easily reached a bidding frenzy otherwise seen only in sales of the most renowned war horses or hunting hounds. It was also rumoured that the services expected from the knights could involve activities not publicly listed but only murmured in quiet undertones - and that free-spirited ladies and even maids did bid freely.

Nothing like that however in this solemn court, still recuperating from the recent brush with war when horrible green fire had engulfed defenders and attackers alike. No, in the Red Keep it was respectable matrons of noble houses doing the bidding, either at their own initiate or as instructed by their lord husbands, men being forbidden to partake in the auction by the light-hearted rules of the game. The knights were subsequently expected to be at the peck and call of their 'owners' for a day, be it arms training for their sons or household men-at-arms, escorting high-born ladies on their excursions to the city or countryside or simply for parading around in front of the proud winner as a sign of their success in the novelty event organised by the future queen.

The auctioneer's voice reached a high pitch in his excitement at the conclusion of yet another sale.

"…and the last bid of the day is also the highest; 20 gold dragons offered and accepted for Ser Loras of House Tyrell! Congratulations Lady Brax for an excellent choice!"

Ser Loras smiled smugly at the tittering older lady who had beaten everyone else in her resolve to win the most distinguished knight of the day, saved for the last.

"And this will conclude our auction for the day…"

"Not so fast," King Joffrey interrupted the vociferous auctioneer, raising himself into a better position on his throne where he had lounged looking bored for most of the auction. He looked alert now and even excited in an odd sort of way. "There is one more left."

He raised his arm in a royal wave and the guards who had clearly expected the signal rushed to a small side-door at the back of the room. As the door opened a tall figure stormed through, striding determinedly straight in front of the Iron Throne.

The whole hall fell silent and Sansa swallowed, nervously. _The Hound!_

"Your Grace. As you commanded." Almost imperceptible nod from the huge warrior acknowledged his master. He was dressed in a dented armour and bore no insignia of the Kingsguard but only somewhat tarnished colours of his own house, black and yellow of House Clegane.

Sansa's legs almost gave up on him and she swayed on the spot. ' _Sing for your life, little bird'. Green glow reflecting from smooth metal, cold steel of his dagger biting softness of her throat. He had come to her that night, promised to protect her, threatened her, demanded a song…and yet she had felt his hot tears under her hand._

Much later, huddled inside his discarded cloak, feelings of terror and pity had clashed in Sansa's mind. She understood that it was not the battle or drink that had made him act so, but the fire. _The fire set upon him and he broke._

After the Battle of the Blackwater the Hound had been found in a wretched condition inside the keep, leaning against the wall in one of the many meandering corridors. That it happened to be the very corridor where Sansa's chambers were located had seemingly missed anyone's notice though, and better so. Ever since then he had been shunned as a deserter and swiftly dismissed from the Kingsguard, the king seemingly having taken his disappearance from the battlefield as a personal betrayal.

 _Did he stay because of me?_ Sansa had wondered more than once. _Was it because I didn't go with him?_ She hadn't exchanged a word with the man or even seen him since that terrible night and wasn't sure how she would react should she suddenly find herself in his presence. Luckily the crowd was large enough for her to safely hide amongst it.

* * *

Joffrey smirked and nodded at the auctioneer who had moved cautiously to the other side of the dais. Recognising the king's gesture for what it was, a royal command, the man's eyes bulged in shock and fear. The Hound, who had so far ignored the crowd, glanced at the man and seeing his fright and nervous clearing of his throat, finally noticed the audience – and flinched.

Sansa caught the meaning of the scene unfolding in front of her at the same time as the rest of the audience and gasped. _Joffrey wants to humiliate him._ It was clear from the way the king grinned after seeing the Hound's reaction. He might not have dismissed his sworn shield from the court outright but he hadn't exonerated him either. The kings apparently didn't simply forgive and forget.

The Hound cursed silently, glanced at the crowd darkly and then turned as if to leave, but the guards moved quickly in his way blocking his exit. He turned this way and that, seeking a way out, but seeing that there was no escape he finally stilled and just stood there, absolutely motionless.

The crowd stared at him in morbid fascination. Sansa glanced at the faces surrounding her and recognised the same enthrallment that captivated spectators in bull baiting; that of people gaining sick pleasure from seeing a magnificent beast brought down. Murmurs filled the air when people speculated who – if anyone – would dare to bid for the Hound.

"Any bids? Anyone? Starting from one gold dragon, a trifling coin for a man of his stature." The auctioneer had recovered his composure and entreated the masses, anxiously. He made sure that he was as far away from the Hound as possible by walking back and forth near the front row, desperately searching for a raised hand or an assured nod.

The Hound's scowl deepened. His broad shoulders heaved as he took in a deep breath of air and closed his eyes.

A long silence ensued, the shuffle and scrape of people's feet on stone floor being the only noise.

* * *

Suddenly Sansa couldn't stand it any longer. Maybe it was the way he had squeezed his eyes shut in a quiet surrender that pierced her heart and prompted her to act without thinking, maybe it was something else – but the next thing she heard was a loud voice breaking the silence.

"FIFTY GOLD DRAGONS!"

Had it really been her own voice?

Every face in the room turned towards her confirming the horrible realisation that yes, it had been her. Yet Sansa ignored everyone's gaze but his. Grey eyes, opened wide in surprise. When he looked at her all the others disappeared and it was as if they were all alone in that great big hall. Then a mute query emerged from the dark depths of grey.

 _Why?_

Trembling from the shock of her own audacity, thunder of her own heartbeat pounding loudly in her ears, Sansa stepped slowly forward. The auctioneer's mouth hang open and his staff was poised halfway in the air on its way to thump the floor as a sign of an accepted bid. Without bothering to call for other bids the man just stared at Sansa and finally croaked, "Sold…to Lady Sansa Stark…for fifty gold dragons." _Thump._

Sansa was almost at the dais, still not breaking the eye contact with the Hound.

 _Because you meant kindness to me._

Then she stood right in front of him, not sure what she was supposed to do. The other knights had descended the podium to meet their new masters, bowing and offering their arm to the ladies in a courtly manner, but surely she could not expect anything as chivalrous from _him?_

And yet the mighty warrior bowed, his gesture conveying his acceptance of the invisible leash from her hands. And Sansa knew then that he felt it too, just like she did; the extraordinary connection they shared. Knew - and accepted it.

Sansa turned and smiled, a tremulous smile, as she walked off the dais, hearing the heavy footsteps of the man she had just bought behind her. The crowd in front of them opened like a flock of chicken and as they walked ahead they left behind them a wake of astonished faces and headshakes.


	2. The Services

_**Author's Notes:**_ This is the second chapter of this story - this is still going to be a short ditty, just an extension to the original 500-word prompt fic... One more chapter to go I think! Thank you for the lovely reviews, thank you so much!

* * *

For the longest time the Hound said nothing and Sansa was too nervous to start so the two of them only stared at each other in silence. She had taken him to the first place she could think of that would provide them with a smidgen of privacy; an enclosed courtyard behind the Great Hall. Overgrown weeds had taken hold in its shaded corners but enough of beautiful rose bushes had remained to suffuse the air with their scent.

Not having paid much attention to the rules read aloud by the auctioneer at the start of the event Sansa now tried to wreck her brain for any snippets that she might have caught. Were the knights supposed to start their service on the morrow of the following day? And be relieved at the end of the day? Or by the morning of the next day? She couldn't remember. And the payment… she suppressed an involuntary gasp. _Where am I going to get fifty gold dragons!?_ The sum was supposed to be paid to the court clerk by the end of the auction day, if she recalled correctly. All the collected coin was then to be used for feeding the poor as dictated by Lady Margaery, a notion almost as unheard of in the Baratheon court as was the auction itself.

Sansa rued herself for making such extravagant bid when probably one coin would have been enough to secure the deal. And yet… it would have been an insult to him – just like Joffrey had intended.

And suddenly the amount of coin didn't seem so bad after all.

Nothing escaped the hard eyes that scrutinised her.

"What it is now, girl? You have the coin? It is a poor bargain you got yourself and hells if I know what prompted you to it." He spoke roughly but his voice was not filled with anger as so many times before. Sansa took it as a good sign, but it didn't do much to ease her concerns.

"I…I don't exactly have the coin on me now. But I have jewellery I can sell." Yes, she was not totally destitute. And she would be happy to get rid of some of Joffrey's gifts, to be honest.

A rumbling laugh rising deep from his chest was as unexpected as it was rare – Sansa couldn't remember ever seeing him as much as smile, not to mention laugh outright.

"Bloody hells! This is better than I thought!"

Tears of embarrassment and humiliation welled in the corners of Sansa's eyes but she tried to suppress them. Why ever had she bothered to feel sorry for him when he returned it with callousness? To hide her discomfort she walked to the other end of the walled enclosure but the Hound followed, his intimidating form blocking the feeble light streaming through the leaves.

Whether it was because he discerned her distress or for no reason at all the laughter stopped and Hound became serious again.

"Do not fret about the coin, little bird. I have plenty left from my tourney winnings. I will take it to whoever collects the spoils of this ridiculous affair ere the evening is over. That'll be my first task under your indenture."

Gathering her dignity Sansa whispered softly, "Thank you. I will pay it back, rest assured."

"Don't even think about it." His dismissive wave whirled past her face and Sansa flinched, involuntarily. The Hound saw it and his mouth pressed into a hard line. "It was my hide you saved out there, so it'll be my coin too. And that's all there is to it."

Sansa nodded. She hadn't planned for this, but it made sense.

"So what happens next?" The Hound seemed to be focussed on assessing the situation from a practical point of view; he must have had even shoddier grasp of what was expected of him than Sansa. And no wonder – he hadn't exactly volunteered for the task.

"I believe we part for now and tomorrow is the day when the services are supposed to be rendered. But do not worry about it, I will not expect anything from you," Sansa hastily added. What on earth would she do with a knight – _not_ a knight – for a day? She had absolutely nothing for him. Surely that was not truly needed and she could grant him the day to do as he wished?

"I will come to you in the morning and will do whatever you bid me. I can honour my part of the bargain, no matter how it was not my doing that it came about." Bitterness in his tone was unmistakable and Sansa couldn't blame him for it. Joffrey had been cruel and vindictive and they both knew that without Sansa's interference he would have been left there to face the humiliation of being passed on as unsaleable goods, rejected by all and sundry. Sansa knew that he wouldn't have cared about it, not truly, but the pettiness of it was still enough to make anyone's blood boil.

"No, truly, there is no need. I have no task to give to you, I'm afraid."

"I'll be there the first thing in the morning nonetheless."

A stiff bow and he turned towards the heavy wooden door leading back to the keep. "I better see about the coin."

And then he was gone and Sansa was left alone amongst the weeds and flowers to wonder what assignment could a young maiden and a prisoner of the crown to think for a warrior of his renown to undertake.

* * *

Sansa heard Lady Margaery before she saw her.

"Lady Sansa! What an unexpected turn of events!" Soft steps hurried behind Sansa and she had no choice but to stop and turn around to face her. Margaery was followed by a flock of young ladies as always, but she signalled them to stay behind as she caught up and clasped Sansa's hand on her own.

"What a daring bid! People will talk about for weeks, that's certain," she gushed all smiling and friendly, clasping Sansa's arm tightly and tugging at her to follow as she continued walking. The corridor was empty and with her ladies out of earshot the exchange was only between the two of them.

Yet Sansa was careful and only muttered something vague about the auction being quite eventful by itself.

"Tell me, did you do it to provoke the king? Why would you do such thing?" Margaery's smile was bright but it didn't reach her eyes which were hard. Panic started to well inside Sansa when she realised that she had done exactly that - spoiled Joffrey's fun – although quite unintentionally. She hadn't even thought of it before, being so overwhelmed by her actions and facing the Hound.

"No! I mean…no, that was not my intention at all! Please, you have to believe me, Lady Margaery!" Sansa shivered thinking what Joffrey could do to those who came between him and his pleasure. Without realising it she squeezed Margaery's hand so hard that she let out a small gasp.

"Dear Lady Sansa, I do believe you – no need to be quite so forceful about it!" After extracting her hand and placing it on Sansa's arm instead Margaery smiled again, her expression this time tinged with curiosity. "Why then, pray tell? I didn't think you would do such a bold thing as to bid for a man like that. He is big and impressive, it is true, but not exactly a maiden's dream. And he is so sullen and brooding!"

Sansa didn't know what to say so she opted for as close to truth as she felt safe.

"I felt sorry for him, my lady."

Margaery's eyebrows raised in astonishment and she let out a small laugh, clear and chiming as spring water rushing down the stream. "Sorry? For the Hound? Dear me, you _are_ full of surprises!" Another laughter and squeeze of her arm told Sansa that the king's betrothed was genuinely amused.

"I know he is a hard man but it must have been difficult for him to be put on the spot like that, without a warning. He has served the King well in the past and I thought it prudent…"

"Oh Sansa – may I call you Sansa? - I have heard about your kind heart but I didn't know it is large enough to include stray dogs and deserters. It speaks well of you, even though I am afraid that your kind gesture is wasted on the likes of him. Joffrey doesn't think very highly of the Hound right now – as I am sure you have figured out." The matter-of-fact way how Margaery talked about the king seemed very bold for Sansa – but then again, she was not a traitor's daughter but that of a man who had just saved Joffrey's kingdoms for him.

"I really didn't mean it as an insult to the king, I swear. Maybe I should seek an audience and explain it to him?"

"Oh, do not worry. Leave Joffrey to me, I will think of something. I might point out how big a fool you made of yourself in front of the whole court, and how well matched you two traitors are – not that I think of you as traitor, of course. We daughters of high lords have to do as our lord fathers tell us, no shame in it."

From the corner of her eyes Sansa saw Margaery looking at her, her smile unwavering. If she could indeed settle Joffrey's displeasure, it would be one less worry for her. But why would she?

"I would appreciate it very much, Lady Margaery. I know that you can see the sincerity of my actions, being in the possession of kind heart yourself." _Little flattery harms no-one,_ Sansa thought.

"Dearest Sansa, we are going to be greatest of friends, I know it! And friends do aid each other, don't they? Of course I will do all I can to help you in this matter!" Sansa turned her head to look at her companion, surprised to find such warmth in the court so far so lacking in it. Large brown eyes twinkled and bore into hers while feather-light fingertips brushed down her arm, lazily, almost caressing, reaching her wrist and squeezing it gently.

As relieved and happy as Sansa was about this rare manifestation of friendship she couldn't help an uneasy feeling. The Hound had told her that people in the court were all liars and every one of them was better than her. Could Margaery be one of them?

 _Well, it is not like have much choice in people claiming to want to help me._

Sansa smiled back at her new friend as they stopped, Margaery taking both of her hands into a soft grasp. Her touch was gentle and her thumbs rubbed Sansa's palms back and forth soothingly.

"Greatest of friends," she whispered huskily and cocked her head. The air of confidence and sincerity surrounded her and Sansa wanted to believe her more than anything – and yet she wavered.

Still she nodded. "Yes, greatest of friends."

* * *

True to his word it was hardly past sunrise when there was a knock on Sansa's door indicating the Hound's arrival to do his duty. She was prepared and despite her nervousness she thought she hid it well enough as they walked through the busy keep, gathering sideways looks and tittering from the people they passed.

 _Gods, this is going to be a long day._

Sansa broke her fast in the hall, the Hound's looming presence behind her seat. It made her nervous and she had to force herself to eat her meal of soft-boiled eggs and freshly baked bread as quickly as she could. She tried feebly to offer some to her erstwhile guard, who however declined.

Sansa tried to send him away once more, but still he refused. Was it a matter of pride or something else that kept him on her side, Sansa didn't know, but it made her apprehensive nonetheless.

Should she pretend that the night of the battle had not happened? He hadn't referred to it and so Sansa decided not to do it either. Maybe he had indeed been so drunk that he didn't remember – and if so, no point in reminding him.

Not knowing what else to do Sansa decided to head towards the Godswood. Surely he would have to honour her privacy during her prayers and the awkwardness between them would be avoided at least for that time?

The way there led them past the royal stables and as they approached them a dog, one of many kept by for hunting or breeding or purely for company, approached Sansa curiously. It was a fine dog although small in stature, the type used for hunting prey that furrowed in the ground. Its bright eyes were intelligent and after sniffing Sansa's outstretched hand curiously it rewarded her with a lick. It tickled and Sansa gave a little giggle.

"Do you like dogs?" The question surprised her, but its tone was earnest so she replied him in the same vein.

"Yes I do. We always had dogs in Winterfell; big dogs, small dogs, all kinds of dogs. Some were used for hunting, some for ratting and some were just for the pleasure of their company."

"Did you ever have one of your own?"

That made Sansa swallow a hard clump that had already started to form in her throat at the thought of another trusting animal who had used to lick her hands.

"No, not really. I was friendly with many, but I never had one all for myself before…"

A silence fell over them. Sansa continued to scratch behind the ear of the dog, who lapped the attention eagerly. It was a bitch, the skin of its belly loose and its teats showing signs of fierce suckling. It had whelped not that long ago.

"I remember. The wolf of yours. It was well behaved and a true lady, like its mistress."

 _Lady._ Sansa closed her eyes momentarily and allowed herself to remember her. She had loved her so… but she hadn't been able to protect her. _'Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it,'_ King Robert had told her father. If only…

"This one has a litter inside the stables. Hungry mob they are, all fine pups."

Sansa was surprised about the Hound knowing such insignificant details of the life of the keep. Weren't such matters above the sworn shield – _ex_ -sworn shield of the king? The dog was sniffing at her legs now and poking its wet nose into the folds of her skirt. Sansa didn't stop her scratching – it was easier to concentrate on the little bitch than to think of Lady.

"Would you like to have one?"

 _That_ made her lift her head and stare at the Hound, astounded.

"What do you mean?"

"Would you like to have one of the puppies? I think them to be ready for weaning. I don't believe all are spoken for, and it is going to be easy enough to ask the master of the stables."

Sansa continued staring at him, then the bitch at her feet, then at the Hound again. _Could I?_

"I am not sure what the king would say to it. If I would be allowed."

The Hound snorted. "Don't think he cares. Out of sight, out of mind. He has his hands full of the bothersome Tyrells for now."

Even as she still tried to think of reasons why the notion was ridiculous and unattainable Sansa's heart started to beat faster of excitement. A puppy of her own! Someone she could hold and love and who would love her back! Could she?

Her thoughts must have been plain on her face as without further ado the Hound pushed the door of the stable open and waved her to follow.

* * *

Sansa looked at the squirming pile of stubby legs, flapping ears and pink tongues lolling from yapping mouths. The puppies were the cutest things she had seen for a long, long time and she couldn't help laughing at their antics and chasing them around the stall that had been assigned for the bitch and its litter. She caught one, a white thing with a brown patch on its side and squeezed it tight against her chest.

"You little rascal! Tried to give me a run-around, did you?" The pup replied by sticking its tongue up her nose and she sneezed.

The Hound came back from exchanging words with a solemnly dressed man, presumably the master of the stables.

"It is all settled. They are ready to go to their new masters, just pick one."

Sansa looked up, the pup wriggling in her lap.

"But I don't know which one to pick! They are all so cute."

The corner of the Hound's mouth quirked upward and he bent down to her, settling on his haunches. He took the puppy from her and it almost disappeared inside his huge palm.

"This one is lively, aye, but you'd be wanting a bitch rather than a dog."

He handled the pup expertly, it settling in his grip but being soon enough released to join its littermates.

"That one there, the brown-faced, is a bitch and a brave one. Look how she is approaching you straight on rather than trying to hide behind the others."

The pup in question was indeed inching its way towards Sansa. She held out a hand and the pup pressed its nose in it, sniffing. It tickled.

"I like her," Sansa admitted, admiring its silky soft ears flapping back and forth as it pressed deeper into her palm.

The Hound lifted the pup and examined it all over from the top of its tail to the pink of its nose. Apparently it passed the inspection as he grunted approvingly and handed it back to Sansa.

"She'll do."

"But…what shall I do? What does she eat? Where shall she sleep?"

"You really know nothing, little bird. What about your wolf, who looked after her?"

Sansa had to admit that although Lady had been in her care, her food and bed had been provided to her by others. The Hounded laughed again, and even she couldn't help smiling broadly at her past self, spoiled and cosseted, not even feeding her own wolf. The second time his laugh was not such a surprise – and besides, Sansa had a distinctive and not altogether unpleasant feeling that he didn't laugh at her but _with_ her.

The prospects of the day she had dreaded suddenly seemed infinitively brighter.


	3. Silent Observations

**Author's Notes:** This was meant to be the last chapter, but it started to stretch too long and as I prefer stories with at least roughly similar length chapters, I am dividing this into two again… Besides, it means I can post this now rather than later – I don't seem to catch much time for writing lately during the week, bleh!

So one more chapter (yeah yeah, you have heard it before…).

Special thanks to all who have commented - (Olivia; thank you for lovely, lovely words!) I had a good think and asked my friends for suggestions for the name of Sansa's puppy – and then realised that the name had been staring me in the face all the time, as you can see…

Hope you like this bit!

* * *

And so started the day unlike any Sansa had ever experienced.

Dismissing plans for the Godswood they went instead to find the trappings Sansa needed for her new charge; a leather collar from the saddler, a thin rope for a leash from the keep's craftsmen, and a pillow for a bed from the seamstresses' rooms. Sansa carried the pup, feeling bad for taking it away from its mother although the Hound growled at her for it being a normal part of every dog's life.

Carrying a hemp bag filled with their haul on his back he led them to a clearing near the training yards, partly hidden behind the armoury. There they sat down next to the rough wooden fence surrounding the space, Sansa on a low stool the Hound had procured from somewhere, settling her skirts neatly around her. The puppy scrambled about examining its surroundings while the Hound patiently explained all Sansa needed to know about her new responsibilities.

Some she already knew from her time with Lady, but there seemed to be quite a few differences between looking after a direwolf in a rustic northern keep where she could roam freely and in taking care of a small hunting dog while being confided as a prisoner in the royal court. Besides, with Lady Sansa had always felt a special connection she couldn't explain – almost as if Lady would have known what she wanted even without her having to express it. And the other way round too; if Lady had felt strongly about something, Sansa had known it.

Pushing bittersweet memories from her mind Sansa concentrated on her new friend, already eager to get to know _its_ mind. It was a delightful little thing, not the least fazed from being separated from its litter-mates, curious, energetic, all over the place… Oddly it brought to Sansa's mind her little sister and as many times before her heart constricted as she wondered what had happened to Arya. Could she still be alive? Was she with their mother, happily ensconced in the family bosom? Sansa hoped so, although a part of her was also jealous of the possibility.

However, it was not only the unexpected diversion of her normally monotonous day that made this day so different – it was also her company.

 _The Hound_ was different. The aura of bitterness and poorly concealed rage he always carried around him like a cloud of doom had lifted and for the first time Sansa saw him as a human being, not as darkness manifested in human form. The realisation was most extraordinary and sometimes she lost a track of things he was saying while being absorbed in a curious study of him.

His grey eyes were bright and wide open without the furrow of a drawn-together brows, the ragged lines of his face were smoothed in relaxation and the corner of his mouth occasionally lifted up, replacing his usual sneer. He told her of the need to start training the puppy straightaway, he told her how to teach the pup to toilet outside or on a specified spot in her chamber, he told her how to make it silent and disappear when necessity arose, he told her how make it come at command and sit and lie down when told so. He told Sansa all these things – more than she could take in at one time – and she listened to his raspy voice, its inflection, the way he almost growled at times and at others softened it to a low hum.

All this time he handled the puppy, lifting it this way or that, making it stay put or move away in an attempt to demonstrate what he meant with his words – more often than not the pup stubbornly resisting his actions or considering them only as a new exciting game. None of its antics deterred the Hound who continued to scratch its head and flanks, poking it in the ribs – gently – and letting it grip his thumb with its small teeth.

Feeling more at ease Sansa pushed ahead with the matter that had piqued her curiosity ever since they had stopped for the bitch.

"How do you know so much about dogs?"

The Hound squeezed the pup's jaws to make it release its grip of his finger, pretending to growl back at it, then lifted his head to look at Sansa. He looked somewhat abashed and that gave Sansa an impression that this side of him was something he didn't show often to anyone.

"Grew up with them. The dogs of our keep were my best friends when…" He didn't finish his sentence but Sansa understood. _…when I had no other friends, when even my own father forsook me._ To fill the silence she cleared her throat softly, then asked him for advice about feeding her new best friend.

* * *

After a while the Hound got up and muttered something about getting water and disappeared behind the armoury. Sansa leaned back and rested her head against the sturdy fencepost, its rough surface comforting in its solidity. She closed her eyes for a moment, not opening them even when the heavy footsteps returned.

Shuffling sounds, a solid thump like a huge tree trunk thrown on the ground. Sansa opened one eye, very carefully and only to a narrow slit, and without moving her head observed him. The Hound had settled on the ground with the ease of a soldier who is accustomed to find his comfort in any spot that presents itself; his long legs were stretched out in front of him, elbow resting upon the ground, his hand supporting his head. He seemed to pay no notion at Sansa but prodded a rough wooden cup filled with water under the pup's nose. It sniffed it suspiciously but after realising its contents started lapping at it eagerly.

The Hound watched on as it drank its fill, then got up to a cross-legged position and started to work on the leather collar he had procured. It was probably some part of a horse harness and much too long, so he measured its length around the pups small neck, cut it with a cruel looking dagger from his waist, then prodded little holes to it to fit the clasp. He worked methodically and efficiently but without hurry, every now and then fitting it to its new owner.

His hands were huge, dark hair covering backs of them up to his fingers. They were killers hands, and had once held a dagger – maybe that very same? – against Sansa's throat. Flashback to that moment of terror should have made her uneasy, but seeing those same hands holding the little dog's round head in their clasp had quite the opposite effect. He could have easily crushed the tiny skull just with a press of his fingers – but it was caresses Sansa witnessed, not only a necessary contact to complete a task. The difference was subtle, but unmistakable.

He watched the dog, his face downturned, and it was then when Sansa noticed how long and dark his eyelashes were, their shadows resting against his weathered skin. He was homely looking and wouldn't have been called handsome even without his burns, but his appearance was solid and comforting to her.

Sansa had a good look and with that stolen moment when she saw him as he truly was on his own rather than as he presented himself to others, her fear and hesitation disappeared. _He is just a man._ A man who had done her bad but also good, and in her eyes the good was starting to outweigh the bad. _'Folk who'll be fond of animalkind and whom animalkind are fond of back cannot be truly wicked'_ – a Northern saying old Nan used to say came to her mind. _Not truly wicked_.

She took a deep breath, silently, and made her position as comfortable as was possible in the circumstances and closed her eyes. She felt as if she had secretly and uninvited lifted the veil meant to stay low, to reveal the soul behind it - and for some reason it made her feel oddly guilty.

The day was balmy and the sun shone warmly to the clearing from a cloudless blue sky. Sansa heard muted sounds of men yelling and horses neighing from far away, from another world outside this little cocoon of theirs. Tangy smells of farmyard wafted into her nose with the slight breeze but they were not altogether displeasing. She was pleasantly drowsy, her night's sleep having been robbed by distressing thoughts of Joffrey's possible revenge and fretting about the day ahead. She could easily fall asleep now…

* * *

 _Bzzzzzzzz…_ a fly buzzed past her cheek, its sound disappearing as it moved away only soon to return. It circled around her head, back and forth, relentlessly, before settling down on her forehead. The tickling was too much and Sansa opened her eyes and raised her hand to swat it away – and found herself staring straight at the Hound's eyes.

He had finished with the collar and the pup was sound asleep on his lap, its nose burrowed under his arm. He sat erect, his back straight as a statue, and from the looks of it had been staring at her for some time – the time she had rested half-dozing in the sun. And he didn't turn away even now but kept on scrutinising her with unnerving intensity, saying nothing.

Deep red spread on Sansa's face and down her neck – she felt as he had caught her only in her shift. It was…unnerving…

She shifted, brushed her hair and skirt, lowered her gaze and pretended that nothing was amiss, reaching towards the pup. Too late she realised that it was resting on the Hound's lap and taking it from there would mean touching him near his…stomach and thighs. Sansa pulled back as abruptly as she had pushed ahead.

"Here, take this." He handed the pup to her one-handed and she clasped it gratefully, pulling it against her chest. The moment of awkwardness dissipated and Sansa exhorted herself to be more careful from thereon.

"What are you going to name it?" His voice was raspy as always but its tone was softer; sand instead of gravel, silken and yet solid.

Sansa played with one floppy ear, frowning.

"I don't really know. I have not thought to name anyone for a long time so I am not prepared."

"Your wolf was called Lady, wasn't it? You chose the name yourself?"

"I did. But I was young then and stupid. I was dreaming of stories of knights and their ladies, believed them to be true." It galled her to admit it but the Hound had been right all along, calling her a pretty little talking bird only repeating words her elders had taught her to recite. Stupid words! She felt herself flush again and hoped he did not notice.

Of course he did.

"It was those who told you that the world is a song who were stupid – not you. Don't fret about that, girl."

He left it at that, not acknowledging the past and his harsh words to her further, instead focussing back at the topic at hand.

"Will you call this one Lady too?"

"Oh no, I couldn't!" There was only ever going to be one Lady for her – and besides, there was nothing remotely ladylike in the ball of fur collapsed on her arms, overtaken by exhaustion.

"What then?"

Sansa looked at the pup again. It was fluffy and cute now, but in time it would grow. Not big, as it was not in the blood of the breed, but it would be wiry, alert, bright and commanding in a way only big dogs in a small dog's body can be. _Commanding…_

"I think I'll call her Mistress. She will be the mistress of my new household. The one consisting of me and her. How would that sound?"

The Hound poked the pup at its rump, it having settled on Sansa's lap, snoring. "Mistress? Hear what our mistress wants to call you? Is that you, you little mongrel?" His dark hair had fallen down from his face as he looked down, thus inadvertently revealing the burns it normally covered. Sansa saw better the craters and the tightly pulled skin and it didn't scare her, didn't repel her, didn't horrify her. As a matter of fact, it did nothing at all to her and she viewed the signs of his cruel past as she did his big hands and broad shoulders, slightly hunched as he leaned towards the pup - accepting.

The Hound looked at her then and caught her gaze on his hideousness. He flinched and moved as if to raise himself but then stopped.

Sansa should have looked away, should have respected the dictates of polite society and not stare at him, but she didn't. Like in the Great Hall, blue met grey and didn't waver.

"Mistress is fine," he finally grunted and the time that had stood still for just that special moment moved forward again. He stood up, heaved his shoulders and started to collect their scattered things from the ground.

It was time to return to the keep.


	4. Her Coin's Worth

**Author's Notes:** Here it is – the last chapter, pheeew! 500 word challenge grew up to be 10,000 – oh well, it isn't the first time and who knows, maybe not the last either… I acknowledge my esteemed colleague and friend SimplyLucia for the concept and phrase uttered by the Hound about 'nobody's woman' - thanks!

Thank you all who have followed this story and a special thank you for all the lovely comments – they really do make my day!

Bye until the next time…

* * *

They walked back to the keep in silence, but this time it didn't lay heavy and suffocating between them but rather as a companionable airy presence, allowing each of them their own space but not forgetting the other. Sansa carried Mistress in her arms, its heavy breathing indicating that it was out of this world in the dreamlands of little puppies. The Hound carried the bag still and directed them towards her chambers.

He stood outside her door while she settled her new companion to its bed and got ready for the dinner, the day already being that late. How the time had flown so quickly when she had expected the opposite was a mystery to her but one that didn't matter.

On their way to the hall they came across the future queen's entourage, young ladies in bright reds and greens and pinks trailing at her wake. Lady Margaery herself was dressed in a revealing but beautiful blue silk gown with white roses adorning its hem.

"Sansa!" Her hands pressed softly on Sansa's shoulders, her lips brushing a kiss on her cheek, breath scented with sweets. A conspiratorial whisper near the shell of Sansa's ear. _"Joffrey was mightily froth with you last night but I settled him and now he thinks it was he who thought of putting you two together!"_

Then she pulled away but didn't break her hold. Her smile filled the corridor with its brightness and Sansa felt drawn toward its warmth, making her desperately want to disregard the undercurrent of uneasiness nestling inside her. Her hands still on Sansa, Margaery threw a curious look at the Hound who was hulking at the back of the group.

"I see you have to play your role to the fullest so I leave you for now. But soon we have to meet again and you have to tell me all about this day, and all about you! I will send a servant to fetch you. Oh, I can hardly wait to get to know you better, sweet Sansa!"

A quick squeeze, a flurry of silken skirts and she was gone. Sansa was left standing in the middle of the corridor still feeling the touch of her lips on her cheek, staring mutely at the retreating group. A loud _Hrrrrmmmpppph!_ brought her back and she continued towards the hall, for some reason feeling vaguely embarrassed.

* * *

As before, the Hound stood stiffly behind her chair, not moving from his spot throughout the whole meal. A few times Sansa glanced behind her shoulder and caught him sullen, his face morphed back to that of a king's dog. A scowl hardened his expression to an image of abject vehemence, and she almost doubted her own recollection of the events of the day. Had it happened, had she peeked through his façade after all? Could this be the same man?

On the dais she saw King Joffrey staring at their direction a few times only to be distracted by his betrothed sitting next to him in the place of honour. Lady Margaery pointed at them then and said something, laughing brightly, and the king's dour contemplation changed to one of mockery. Since then whenever he looked at them it was with an expression of smugness.

Sansa knew that she should be thankful for Margaery keeping her word, as the more satisfied Joffrey felt about the success of his cruel plan, the safer she was – _they were_ – from his revenge. But the Hound didn't know about any of that - how did _he_ feel about being publicly mocked and ridiculed? Food turned sour in Sansa's mouth, made tasteless by the cold anger emanating from his silent guard.

Once, when Joffrey had turned away to address his other guests, Margaery caught Sansa's attention with her direct gaze. She winked and raised her eyebrow, flicking her fingers through her hair coquettishly and only when the king turned to her did she look away, leaving Sansa confused, her mouth hanging open. What was Margaery's game? Could she really trust her?

A quick look behind her told her what she already suspected – the Hound had noticed. What he thought of it was another thing as his face didn't give anything away.

As soon as it was prudent Sansa excused herself and left the hall. She didn't need to check – her non-knight was still with her, trailing behind like a giant shadow. Her steps didn't falter and her head was held up high when she passed small groups of people, nodding politely to those she knew. Many of them turned to stare at them as they passed and half-whispered jokes and crude laughter hanging behind them told that the king's japes had been well noticed. It was Sansa's turn to practice her mask, that of courtesy which had helped her at least as much as the one the Hound wore.

Yes, they were indeed both two mummers in the grand stage of the court.

* * *

Her door was the barrier across which they could not pass together; that would not have been proper. It was late but not so late that the corridor would have been busy with others seeking comforts of their rooms for the night.

The absence of curious eyes made Sansa feel better. The hard stone walls and far-away sconces burning in the distance became the edges of a cocoon that encased them in its fold, just like the wooden fence of the yard had been earlier.

"It is time for your duties to end. I won't be needing your services anymore as I'll be retiring now." Sansa's voice was shaky and despite the comfort of privacy, the loss of odd companionship they had shared during the day rankled her. It had been only an illusion, she concluded now, a peculiarity brought on by unusual circumstances. Nothing more.

"My obligations are not over. Command and I'll obey," the Hound rasped. He leaned against the wall in an unexpectedly informal pose, long limps relaxed and yet the tension in him obvious – he would have never done that in front of King Joffrey or Queen Cersei. Sansa wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse.

"No, truly, I have nothing more. It has been a long day, and I do thank you most sincerely for your services." Sansa was earnest and hoped that he understood it. She would have never gathered the courage to ask for a dog and had never even known about the opportunity had it not been for him. Yes, she was genuinely thankful.

He regarded her, almost as before, solemnly, thoughtfully. With a twinge Sansa remembered the mockery over the dinner and felt compelled to address it.

"I am sorry about the whole incident and how you were forced to it, and the consequences. It must have been unpleasant and I think it was wholly unjust that you had to go through it."

Raise of eyebrows, astonishment.

"What the hells are you chirping about?"

"You know, the people. How the king laughed at you, and Lady Margaery and the others. You did not deserve it."

Once more a loud chuckle, but the tone of this was different, bitter.

"Oh _that!_ I don't give a fuck about those gnats! And do you think I care a whit about what Joffrey thinks of me?" He stared at the wall behind her with unseeing eyes. "There was a time when he cared what _I_ thought of _him_ – but those days are long gone."

His eyes focussed on her again and he seemed to return to present leaving Sansa wonder about what had been between him and Joffrey before, and how had it been for him to see his charge growing up to the youth he was now.

"No, better for Joffrey to laugh and think that he got the better of the situation. I _wanted_ him to think that I was miserable. Had I shown up smiling like a cat who licked the cream what do you think he would have done?"

The mental image the Hound raised was so bizarre that without being able to prevent it Sansa smiled.

"Is that why you were gawking at me with your face getting sourer each time? Thinking I was miserable?"

Too embarrassed to admit it Sansa decided to ignore the question with her best rendition of indifference. _So…he really wasn't as mad as I thought?_ Her relief at hearing it was unexpected in its intensity.

"No more of that. But I told you that my duties are not over – not at all. So ask me."

"I thank you, but I really have nothing else for you to do. It is late and my dog needs me." The words rolled out of her tongue full of possibilities; _'my dog'._ What they really meant was _'my friend'_ – someone who needed her for her own sake, not for her position or her birth right. "This is her first night without her mother and siblings so I want to be there."

"I didn't mean only tonight. Ask me."

Sansa had gathered that the rules in this regard were somewhat vague; the duty was due to finish either in the evening or in the morning, depending of what the tasks assigned to the auctioned knights by their 'owners' were. Remembering the whispers from Dorne she blushed – luckily the torchlight was so dim the flush on her cheeks went unnoticed, she hoped.

"Ask me."

Force of his plead startled Sansa. She started to get uneasy about his tenacity.

"Honestly, I have nothing. Or…maybe I could turn to you later if I still have questions about training Mistress or anything such sort? Could I do that?"

The Hound stretched and folded his arms in front of his chest, pushing himself away from the wall.

"Sure you can. You know…" He stopped and stared at her, then continued with deliberate intensity. "When she gets older and goes into heat you have to be watchful for all the dogs that come sniffing around."

Sansa was mortified. She knew how things were with dogs and farm animals; she had heard about practicalities of breeding in the North where the lord's halls were not so removed from his people that a touch of real life would not have entered them. And yet, to bring it up like that …

"Good thing with the dogs is that they bother bitches only when they are in heat. Unlike people."

 _Gods!_ Why to bring up such things now, Sansa wondered. These were not things to say to a lady, especially to a maid. Oblivious to her discomfort the Hound continued, not looking at her, almost as if addressing no-one in particular.

"A woman cast aside by one is free game for the others. When she is nobody's woman she is everyone's to claim."

Was he talking about her? Sansa had an uneasy feeling that he was. She had been so relieved about the breaking of her betrothal with Joffrey that she hadn't truly thought of what came next - but it seemed that he had.

"I see the way men look at you; knights and lords, even ordinary men-at-arms. Men old enough to be your grandsire and boys still wet behind their ears. They vie for you and what is yours and it is only a matter of time…"

No need to continue the sentence, Sansa had already grasped his meaning fully and its implications sank in heavily at the bottom of her belly. She swallowed but had no words.

"And not only men. Lady Margaery seems very fond of you too."

Was it sarcasm in his tone? Sansa glanced quickly at the Hound but his face was expressionless.

"Yes, she has been very good to me. As a matter of fact, I owe her for deflecting the king's ire from me - from us. She told me that she has turned his wrath away from us and made him think that his plans of humiliation have succeeded manyfold." The Hound snorted at that, the sound loud and abrupt in the quiet of the night.

"A debt she undoubtedly plans to collect. She likes you fine enough." He leaned closer, towering over her, his shadow blocking the distant light. "She _likes_ beautiful maids."

Sansa stared at him, uncomprehending. Why would he care if she had finally found a friend in the court? And why to bring her up with these others…

 _Oh!_

The Hound pulled back, sneering. Sansa didn't know what to think – surely it could not be what she had just thought of, surely…

He straightened himself to his full formidable height. "Ask me, little bird!"

Postponing for later the disconcerting thoughts raised by the Hound's insinuations Sansa was seriously confused by now. _Ask what?_

"I am not sure…" she started, then was jolted by the crack of his clenched fist hitting the wall near her. It was loud, it was brutal, flesh and bone meeting hard stone.

"Bloody hells girl! I pulled a dagger on you, I held it on your throat! I pushed you down on your bed – gods only know what you thought was going to happen! I owe you. Ask me!"

Frustration kept in check for a long time unfurled and he was fire, he was fury. Bloody scrapes in his knuckles trickled rivulets of ruby red blood down to his wrist but he disregarded it and stared at Sansa, eyes narrowed, expectantly.

Sansa was at loss. What could she ask? She was a prisoner, there were limits to what she could do and there was not much more he could ask of him in the circumstances.

And then she realised.

He had come to her once and offered to take her home, take her to North – as clearly as he could in his state of terror and drunken stupor. She had declined him; not in so many words but declined him nonetheless and he wasn't going to ask her again. And yet…

He was a tightly wound ball of entangled threads and if she thought she had picked one to unravel there were a dozen or more she could not see or untangle. What did he _really_ want?

There was only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath Sansa extended her hand and softly touched his arm, that of his still bleeding hand.

"Will you take me home to the North? Will you take me to my family?"

That stilled him, halting the clenching and unclenching of his fist. He blew like a horse and shook his head, focussing his gaze back on Sansa.

If he was still truly the king's dog, this was the time for him to let her know that in no uncertain terms, to assuage her of her foolish notions, maybe to warn her away from such dangerous trails of thought. His wrath was still upon him but Sansa refused to look away, determined to see through whatever may come - but gradually his expression changed. It relaxed and softened, a touch of relief shown on those plain features.

"Aye. I'll take you home – or wherever you may want to go. I'll protect you from everyone who tries to harm you." She felt his muscles tensing hard as a rock under her fingers as she leaned on him, but his tone was calm, his voice a low rumble – and it was the sweetest music to Sansa's ears. The coiled spring within her, tightly wound in the span of just a few moments when waiting to see his reaction to her request, sprang open and she floated in air, the door to her freedom being yanked ajar and calling her.

"And the pup," he continued and cocked his head towards her room where the pup, apparently woken up by their voices, let out small yaps. It broke the spell and Sansa returned to the present. It was strange - she didn't even have a mind to ask about practicalities; when, how, what should she do and how to prepare. None of that mattered. She had asked and he had promised.

"A few days. I will let you know what you need to do to get ready, and come to you when the time is right."

It was not even a time for profuse expressions of gratitude; they would come later. So Sansa only nodded and squeezed his arm one more time before letting go, almost stumbling at a loss of support of his solid frame before gaining a hold of the door latch. Without a further ado the Hound turned on his heels and strode away, his tall body throwing long dark shadows against the wall.

Sansa didn't step into her room quite just yet but stared after him for a long time. The best impulse of her whole life - that on the spur of the moment bid for fifty gold dragons she didn't even have.

 **THE END**


End file.
